Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

Con got closer to her. “Who says I’m a beginner?”

“Hookahs in!” Dave hollered. “Let’s get to work, troops!”

Lizzie snapped her hose, checked it, then slid into the icy cold water. A second later, a warm, strong body was next to her, as close to her face as he could be with the air hoses separating them.

She knew it. She’d be wearing him on this dive.

Behind his mask, he winked, took her free hand with his, and pulled her deep into the murky water.

Con hated to dive. He could do it, and had, many times since that bad, black mission in Quezon City. But every time he submerged, he remembered that night, that save, that choice, and what it cost him.

Everything. It cost him fucking everything. So he hated to dive, which was probably one of the many reasons Ms. Machiavelli picked this job as his Bullet Catcher test.

They dropped straight down through the sandstorm blowing under the set of pipes that directed the prop-wash to the bottom. Con kicked through it, heading toward a two-foot-high pyramid-shaped ballast pile. These black stones were proof that they had found a bona fide shipwreck, since the pile of weighted rocks used to center the vessel was probably all that remained of the actual ship. There could be cannon down there and, of course, the cargo.

Lizzie started to swim to the edge of the pan, and he stayed right next to her, still highly suspicious of her, even though there hadn’t been anything incriminating on her phone. The only person she’d been in contact with since she’d gotten on board was Brianna Dare, whom he assumed was a sister, though he hadn’t asked the Bullet Catchers investigative team to verify that yet. Still, he wasn’t about to let his little thief out of his sight underwater.

For one thing, the notebook she was hiding in her room proved she knew exactly which shipwreck they were salvaging. She was his number one target for the moment, which was why he’d subtly convinced the divemaster to let him dive with her.

If he wanted to steal treasure on a dive, he’d forget the stuff being recovered and processed. He’d take it right from the bottom of the ocean and no one would be the wiser.

Lizzie slithered in front of him, took his arm, and yanked him away from the ballast pile, using her metal detector to point forcefully at the perimeter of the coquina-shell pan.

He followed her lead, working tirelessly for almost an hour, recovering nothing but a nail, which she slipped into a zippered pouch on her weight bag. Periodically she checked the ballast pile, probably gauging a direction or specific spot where something had been found.

In one place, she mimed the line of a necklace around her neck. That must be close to where Alita found the chain. She pointed for him to go several feet away and start detecting while she worked where she stood.

In other words, go out of visibility distance.

Not a chance. He shook his head and she dropped her shoulders and glared at him in disgust. Then she tapped her dive watch, hard, and made a gesture of frustration. They were running out of time, she was trying to tell him. Meaning the discovery, if there was to be one today, might be made by the next dive team.

Reluctantly, he nodded, pointing to a place he’d go, still within visibility of her. She agreed with a half shrug, then flicked her hand as if to say, Move it! He swam there, splitting his attention between the sand on the pan and the woman who was now turned so he couldn’t see if she dropped something into her weight bag.

How long would it have taken him to hone in on Lizzie Dare if he hadn’t caught her in the lab? Not long, because he’d have honed right in on her anyway as soon as he met her. She might not have the lingerie model’s body that Alita Holloway had, but there was something much more attractive to him about Lizzie.

He glanced over to watch her glide through the water, her concentration unaffected by a school of bluefish that swam between her and her magnetometer, her attention focused so intensely it was like watching a machine work the hunt.

The soft beep of her detector sounded, and she reacted. Instantly, he swam over, reaching her in two long kicks, setting his device down to move the dirt by hand.

She worked the detector like it was an extension of her body, following the speed of the beeps, faster, louder… closer.

He brushed a chunk of coral out of his way, and as it rolled, the underside glowed bright gold, like it had just been polished and put under a light.

Their hands smashed together as they lunged for it, but he was faster, closing his fingers over the metal and gently nudging it free. He heard her loud and furious grunt of frustration.

Con held it out for her to see, carefully brushing some loose bits of sand to reveal the shape as he turned it in the water.

Frustration gone for a moment, Lizzie just floated closer, drawn to the two-inch round brooch or medallion, a purplish crust around at least a half-dozen gemstones and something that ran straight down the center.

She reached out to loosen more coral, her fingers reverent and her movement slow. Through the water, he heard her low moan of reaction. Surprise and disbelief widened her eyes. Recognition.

She knew this piece.

Con closed his other hand around his hose, but Lizzie reached out, stabbing her fingers through the water to stop him from signaling, her eyes flashing at him.

She held up her hand as if to say, Wait .

Why wait to tell the ship they’d made an amazing recovery?

She put her hands together as though to plead with him, her eyes soft and begging. Then she reached for it, tentatively, holding up one finger as if to ask for just one minute with it.

As her fingers moved toward the treasure, her eyes met his with nothing but desire, and he couldn’t deny her the moment. Obviously she couldn’t steal it right in front of him. And he couldn’t care less about having the “first hands” touch the treasure and getting credit for the find.

He let her take it, rewarded by a smile in her golden brown eyes.

She brushed the coral-encrusted piece with a gentle finger, holding it toward the sunlight that streamed through the water, examining it carefully. She turned it over, ran her fingers along the sides, counted the jewels, including the dent where one had been lost.

Her fingers trembled with awe, and her shoulders rose and fell as her breaths were obviously tight and quick.

Still holding it, she pointed at the spot where he’d found it, as if to say they should look for more.

No way. Part of his job was to protect the treasure, and this piece was a major find. With an easy snatch, Con took the medallion from her, getting a fiery look through her mask.

He tugged four times on his hose.

She twirled away and kicked hard, straight up. He unzipped the pouch on his weight belt, slid the medallion in, then bent over to pick up his detector.

She was already being pulled onto the dive platform by Kenny and Dave, and a group was gathering on the main deck, the excitement and noise palpable the minute Con popped through the surface.

“What did you get?” Alita called out.

“Hand over the goods,” Charlotte said as she climbed down to the platform, a cloth spread out like a baby’s receiving blanket.

“Gold or jewels?” Dave demanded, his voice rising with excitement.

Con hoisted himself to the platform and looked at Lizzie, who was shaking out her wet hair after pulling off her mask.

“What?” she said, a little hostility in her voice. “Just show them.”

As he unhooked his air hose and flipped up the mask, Flynn Paxton came across the deck, the first time he’d made an appearance since Con had arrived. He had the same sun-bleached hair the divemaster sported, but his looked more salon-styled than surfer dude.